


It's Not in a Box

by DustToDust



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a wreath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not in a Box

**Author's Note:**

> This was just going to be another ball of cute and fluff, but Jason. It's always Jason.

It starts with a wreath.

Tim only notices it because things go incredibly right at WE in a way that means he leaves _on time_ for once, and uses the front door of his apartment for the first time in what feels like months. The wreath is not something that Tim had put up himself. It’s made with real branches of greenery and has red and gold ribbon tied around it. Tim wonders if it’s Dick or Alfred’s doing. Either way he has to leave it up.

The next thing Tim notices is the six foot tall tree in the corner of his living room that used to be a book shelf. He nearly smacks into it after patrol one night. He stands in the dark for a long moment grimacing at the thing and mentally noting to give Dick hell about it later, because the bookcase is across the room now and Alfred saves all the heavy lifting for one of them. At least this one isn’t real. The overwhelming scent of pine that’s taken over the manor isn’t present which means he won’t have to clean up whatever the tree sheds in the morning.

In the light of morning Tim sees a string of multi colored lights on the tree and not much else. He’s going to be late for work, but he plugs the string in and watches the lights blink for a few seconds before leaving.

Ornaments start showing up after that. In ones and twos when Tim’s not home. They’re mismatched and usually second hand. Some Tim recognizes from the almost literal arsenal of ornaments Alfred keeps in the manor’s attic, but most are a complete mystery to him. There’s a plastic Choco on red and white thread. Balls of various colors with glitter that’s nearly been worn away. A couple of fat Santa’s on sleighs. Various shapes cut out of felt, usually with googly eyes glued on. And there’s birds. Lots of red birds. They’re cardinals but the point is made.

Dick denies the whole thing with a kind of glee that means he’s telling the truth, and Tim has to fight to keep the older man out of his apartment. He looses and finds himself the proud owner of a set of really ugly Christmas bowls that get buried in the back of a cabinet after Tim’s done staring at the horrifying elves dancing around the outside of them.

Babs laughs when he asks her and demands pictures. Steph’s visiting Cass in China for the rest of the year, and Damian is growling at anything vaguely related to the season. Bruce, no, just no. The list of people able to break into his apartment without setting off the alarms is short though, and Tim knows who it is fairly quickly. He’s just having a hard time believing it.

On one hand, Christmas cheer and all that is the last thing Tim would ever associate with Jason. On the other, breaking into someone else’s place to do the fun decorating, embarrassed explaining, and eventual clean up is exactly something he’d do.

Tim walks into a store after work and finds himself a brand new ornament. An elf boot with the toes curled and a jangly bell on it. It takes him a few minutes to paint over most of the red stripes on it until it’s all just green. He puts it on the tree before patrol. Front and center so that there’s no missing it.

Tim rolls into his apartment in the early hours of the morning and immediately gets a face full of something cool and stringy that clings to his skin until he gets to a light. There’s tinsel. _Everywhere_.

By the time Tim’s gotten his couch uncovered enough to flop down he’s gotten three calls. He lets them all go to voicemail. The first is a long clip of Babs laughing. The second and third are from Dick who sound progressively more demented as he goes on. Tim sprawls out on the couch, blowing away a few strands of tinsel that stick stubbornly to him, and resolves to finish in the morning. And to dump out the trash bags it’s going to take to reclaim his apartment on top of Dick.

He overestimates the tinsel. It only takes one trash bag to get most of the damage contained. He drives over to the manor and is pleasantly surprised when Damian helps him carefully layer Dick’s sleeping body with the stuff. The boy lines the strands over Dick’s face with a single mindedness that speaks volumes about how low his tolerance of the season has become. Tim makes sure to track Alfred down before leaving.

"Master Dick has been," Alfred pauses slightly. Just long enough for Tim to notice it. " _Insistent_ in educating him about the various types of seasonal sweaters."

Which is all the explanation Tim needs. Dick has an odd love for ugly Christmas sweaters. Tim sends Damian a text about the glitter in the undercover kit before starting his car and driving home. He gets a very shiny picture of a confused looking Dick just as he’s opening his door, and steps into a brighter than normal apartment.

Strings of light have been stapled to his walls. All around the top of the wall where it meets the ceiling, around each door, and even the windows. The kitchen is the worst. Lights are affixed to every surface in haphazard patterns that almost look like they could be figures. If you squinted and were slightly drunk. The refrigerator has a lopsided snowman on it, the cabinets look like they might be covered in snowflakes, and the wall next to the window eventually resolves into a demented looking Santa. Which may or may not have bat ears on it.

Tim sends a picture to Steph and decides to reclaim the three hours of sleep he missed getting the tinsel to Dick.

There aren’t any lights in his room -—yet-— but there is a lump in his bed. One that breaths and growls, “Shut the fucking door.”

The room seems darker than it is after the lightshow that is the rest of his apartment. Tim moves up to the bed to glare down at the man who’s apparently decided to help himself to more and more of Tim’s apartment. He can only make out the side of his face, one hand, and, of course, the obnoxiously bright Santa hat he’s wearing. Which looks suspiciously brown in certain spots. “Is that blood?! Jason, are you wearing bloody clothes in _my bed_?”

"It’s dry," Jason says, one eye slitting open to glare up at Tim. Like he’s the one doing something wrong. "Now shut up and let me sleep or I’ll be adding some fresh blood."

No. Tim grabs the sheets and rips them off Jason. The wreath, the tree, the lights, the tinsel. Those are alright. A little annoying but he’s willing to put up with it. Willing to let his home be invaded by the world’s worst holiday decorator if it means Jason’s doing something that isn’t all that violent. Not this though. He _sleeps_ in this bed, and he’s not going let Jason get blood and whatever else he has on him all over his sheets.

Except Jason doesn’t have anything else on him. At all.

Blushing is a curious feeling. It starts out as a hint of warmth in his cheeks that he knows shows really well on his pale skin. A bit of warmth that quickly flashes over to red hot fire when Jason rolls onto his back with a smug grin. Proving that he is in fact wearing something else. A green and red stocking with a few strategically placed bows. Tim stares and chokes on the words he was going to say.

"It’s not Christmas yet but I-" Jason jerks to the side as Tim lashes out and gets tangled in the covers Tim throws at him. "Hey!"

Tim yanks on the sheets and Jason falls to the floor with a loud thump. Scrambling and rolling to avoid the kicks Tim aims at him while he’s down. His last roll puts him firmly out of the bedroom and Tim slams the door shut on Jason’s sputtering which is half cursing and half maniacal laughter.

"Hey!" Jason hits the door hard enough to rattle it. "My clothes are in there!"

In a messy pile near the door that Tim can’t believe he missed. Tim leans against the door. Foot up against it even though Jason’s not trying to get back in. He opens his mouth to tell Jason tough luck and stops. Considers that he’s dealing with _Jason_ , and opens the door fast enough to catch his own elbow on it. “Wait!”

Jason’s already going towards the front door, and takes his sweet time turning back to Tim. Because he’s Jason Todd and he has no modesty whatsoever. Tim knows exactly what he’ll do if he goes out that front door. He’ll wander the apartment building as he is with a cocky grin, and Tim will be forced to do really embarrassing things to get him to stop. Only _after_ Jason’s ensured he’s gotten the largest crowd possible though.

Tim throws the clothes at Jason. Pants first. “Just get dressed, Jason.”

"Your loss," Jason says and reaches down for the stocking.

Tim spins on his heel and goes into his room. Ignoring Jason’s laughter as he kicks the rest of Jason’s clothes out past the door. He gets as far as his bed before stopping. He’s not going to be able to sleep now. The bed is rumpled and probably smells like Jason now. A dangerous combination when Tim gets a _vivid_ image of Jason lying on it when he closes his eyes.

"I hate you so much," Tim groans as he turns back to the hallway, but Jason’s already gone. Two bows and a stocking the only real sign that he’d been there. Along with the decorations that still adorn his apartment. Tim groans and strips the sheets off his bed. Adding them to the clothes he was planning on doing anyway. The wreath sheds a few needles when Tim shuts the door behind him, and Tim eyes it wearily.

The month isn’t even half over yet, and Jason’s been pretty persistent in adding something every day so far. Tim has no delusions that he won’t stop now that he’s upped the ante so to speak. Tim tries to convince himself that he’s annoyed by that, but he’s not doing a good job fooling himself. Or the little old widow who lives on the sixth floor and gives Tim a conspiratorial smirk on the elevator ride down.

"Love looks good on you," she says as she pats his burning cheeks before getting off on the ground floor.

"Hate you so much," Face flaming hotter, Tim mutters to the sheets in his basket as the elevator continues on to the basement.

**Author's Note:**

> Tim should expect to wake up bright and early Christmas morning for his specially wrapped dick in a box. God dammit Jason.


End file.
